A Second Chance
by NerfHerder101
Summary: "My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia." Movie-verse Susan/Caspian
1. Through the Fire and Rain

Prologue

The call came in the morning as Susan stumbled in through the door. Another late night out partying and drinking and all the other things that can cause a headache as bloody horrible as the one she had. Her organs felt like shifting themselves up her esophagus and the pulsing pain in the back of her head meant she had had one too many of the little fruity drinks.

The call didn't help.

It came in the morning and it told her to come to the train station 'there had been an accident' it said. Addressing the matter as unimportant, Susan jumped in the shower, reveling in the hot steam. Stepping out, she changed into the skirt and shirt required at her office workplace - they hadn't been washed as laundry sat for another night without her attention. The clock read 7:47, her shift began at 8:30. Moaning a bit, she supposed she would have to be a little late and wondered, in hind sight, if she would just be showing up to the Underground guards escorting her youngest brother beaten and bloody from another fight. Peter, back from Oxford, was supposed to take the youngest two on to academy that morning, but knowing Peter - well, it was completely possible he had joined his brother in whatever mischief they sorted to do.

While driving, she turned on the radio in her car. The dismal day could use some music.

Bad idea.

A voice drifted through the speakers, "... 757 Train lost control and spilled of the tracks. The number of dead and injured rises as the hours go by, currently standing at 235, 456 respectively. What makes the accident a true tragedy is that the train was carrying many students of varying ages to their schools. In times such as these with the war only years behind us one can only wonder whether England will ever stand again..."

Susan ran a red light, then a stop sign.

Cars honked and a lone police officer in the middle of an intersection whistled violently when she zoomed past. The rain splashed about leaving torrents of water rising in waves on unsuspecting walkers. They grumbled, drenched in their jackets and trousers and handkerchiefs.

Arriving at the station, any thoughts that the radio was mistaken were over. Police cars blocked off the entrances and frantic bystanders ran around, a Red Cross van stood off to the side with its many volunteers pulling in blankets, water and victims. Groups stood staring at a long strip of police tape that stretched its way around the scattered entrances to the station. Everywhere there was chaos. Police and fireman ran around as scared as the people that surrounded them. Tendrils of smoke drifted up from the station's entrances. Above was okay, down below permeated a disgusting aura of tragedy.

As Susan pushed her way through the crowd a bedraggled officer who looked barely out of the academy attempted to stop her, "Miss, you are going to have back away - only.."

Her legs swept past him.


	2. This is Home

This is Home

It was their train, and here are their bodies - somewhere, probably in pieces or so the officer standing next to her said describing the crash in graphic detail. His voice, gravelly from hours of use, drilled on and on. It was most likely his official duty to meet those coming to claim any passengers on the destroyed train. The sound stopped. He reached down a hand and for a second she though he was going to comfort her - instead, "You smell like shit."

Susan looked to her right and blue met green in a bleary half drunk kind of way. The buzzing in her head didn't make his comment silent, and she heard him above all the other noise pollution.

"What?" She murmured, head falling and chin tucking back in next to her chest, as she attempted to sound irritated. It mostly came out tired. Dead tired, in fact. This was all happening far too fast for her boozed out brain to keep up with. She smelled the left over alcohol on her breath and supposed, for a moment, he was speaking of that and possibly any other smell that permeated herself and her unwashed clothing.

"I said, you... uh.." He stuttered as if just realizing how inappropriate his comment was, "...smell like... like shit. Not that that really means anything, everyone here smells like something a dog threw up. Just, you know..." At this he gave a shrug of his shoulder, sandy brown hair flopping a bit, "We aren't girls... dressed in non-police type clothing..."

The shovel in his hand waggled around and clattered to the ground. When he went to pick it up she got a good look at the police man. His green eyes matched nicely with the hair, but from there it went downhill. A five o' clock shadow covered his face and eternally sleepy eyes peered out above black circles. His uniform, stripped down to only the pants and undershirt, was crumpled and stained and his trouser straps stood unhooked at his waist, swinging around violently. An unlit cigarette poked out half heartedly from his lips. He gave a good natured smile that did not belong among the death and debris. Susan sniffed a little bit, knowing that she probably still smelled like alcohol, shower be damned, and that the running and day old clothes didn't help.

She stared and asked, "My brothers and sister were on that train, how do I... ? What do I...?" She stared pensively at him for a moment, then broke, "Are they dead?" Susan sat down on the ground, a piece of metal sticking into her back and, dusty plaster spreading onto her dark skirt.

He sat down next to her and passed a clipboard from the backpack he was wearing - a detail she had missed. "If they're dead and they're identified they'll be on the first few pages. If they're injured, they'll be on the back pages, registered with the First Aid station. If they're neither…" His voice faded off, "… well, the line begins at the ticket booth."

She looked towards the familiar booth, expecting to see a line of other people looking for family.

_Oh_, she thought to herself, _there's the line_.

It began and never seemed to end, an endless row of lumps covered in white sheets. Some looked human, others seemed to be piles.

Her movements sped up a little bit, flipping through the pages. They were in no specific order and though she looked through unfamiliar name after name, none belonged to her. The panic swelled and crashed, her chest heated and then stoked the fire inward, pile driving her heart, clenching and thrusting, She couldn't breathe. Nowhere, her family was nowhere. The officer looked at her panicked features and sighed, a sigh filled with dread that had already passed and a thick tiredness that laid waste to his voice.

Standing up, he left the shovel on the floor and wiped his hands on his pants which served only to make the dirt dirtier. This time he did reach a hand out.

"I am sorry." His voice struggled, knowing those weren't the right words, but they had been put on repeat throughout the day as he said them over and over. He looked at the girl, so young, couldn't be more than twenty - probably younger. Parents dead in the war, maybe, no other family, now, siblings dead or so it goes. The same song had played through soft, quivering mouths all morning - for hours, in fact.

Susan quietly took his hand, pulling herself up, but not bothering with any other motion. Her body stood loose and languid, almost weak, like a breeze would topple her over. Three years. Where had she been, they -. She stopped, choking while she realized the ramifications of her actions. Out, she had been out. That's what she had told them, again and again in response to their worried queries.

"_Su, _" Peter whispered, "_Are you okay?" _Last night, just as she had been leaving he had asked her, like a broken record, "_Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay?" _Last words.

"No..." Susan cried. _That place, that place _she wanted to yell_. I'll never go home, how can I be okay. I'll never go home and now, you have all left, left like home. I... wanted to forget_.

Her skirt crumpled as she knelt down again, stirring the ground with her foot, toeing the sheetrock and rubble. _I'm sorry _she cried inside_, I was supposed to be responsible Susan, level-headed Susan, gentle Susan, mothering Susan, calm Susan. I couldn't, I couldn't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_. The walls of the station had collapsed and everywhere was destroyed.

He took her hand. Startled, Susan jerked her eyes upward and they locked gazes again. His droopy eyes transformed and she let him lead her towards the line. Something in her broken body made it easier for him to take a special interest. He could feel regret rolling off her in waves, regret like nothing he had seen all morning. The pain in this one small body seemed greater than anything anyone could carry like she had lived a lifetime and, yet, she stood.

"I'm Henry, by the way." He paused, "This isn't a good time for introductions, but if you need any help ask for me. Any of these guys can take you to me."

"Susan."

Henry stopped pulling her along.

"My name is Susan Pevensie."

"Okay." He answered, as if she had asked a question, though she hadn't, but they both felt she had.

It was an arduous walk, something reminiscent of a battle long fought. White sheets, not so white now that she was up close were pulled back - one following another - so, that she could view the bodies. Blood and dirt stains smeared the covers and though Susan had seen far worse she still wanted to run. Maybe it was different this time, three years away from war was a long time or maybe it was who lay underneath these body bags - not warriors or fierce creatures, but children and civilians. Pebbles bounced among the debris and workers still rushed about them, oblivious to any other chaos except that which physically surrounded them. Susan froze, and withdrew.

The last sheet overturned revealed honey-blond hair, a broad chin, cold, blue lips once rosy with the wind of battle and dead gray skin.


	3. London Bridge

London Bridges/This is Home

"Take her with you."

The Chief stared blandly back at Henry as he rattled on about his plight of the catatonic girl in the backseat of his patrol car.

"What?" Henry stared back just as flat-faced, sitting down and setting his badge on the mahogany desk. The layered room was grimy with darkness and the desk lamp did nothing to illuminate a bad situation. Henry turned and flicked on the lights - they both blinked and grimaced at the sudden flash.

With the light on Henry got a good look at the Chief of the police station. His belly bulged slightly over a large brass belt, his shirt was undecorated and rumpled. Sweat stains dotted the front and armpit area. The tail ends of his shirt were untucked and drooping, buttons from neck to mid chest and from belly down were skewed and loose. Dark circles stood out against his watery blue eyes and an ungroomed moustache looked like it was invading the Chief's face. His bald head was uncapped and glistening in the bright overhead lights.

Now, _HE_ looked like shit.

"You heard me."

"Doesn't that go against company policy or something?" The boy looked flustered and completely uncomfortable with taking a stranger home with him. After all, she could be a serial killer in disguise. It was always the quiet ones, or the butler - as the story goes.

"I've got over 600 people injured, over 300 dead, half of them un-identified, or unidentifiable, and the ones that are identified have families threatening to sue the rails. I've got higher ups, corporations, half of goddamn bloody England breathing down my neck." For one second the man's face crumpled, his hard lines folding over themselves, "So, just for one night, take the girl with you. Tomorrow, stick her next to the dead bodies and someone'll find her along with their dead mother, brother, sister, husband." When the Chief's voice cracked, Henry stared in shame at the floor.

"Never mind, I'll take care of her Chief. Forget about it." Henry smiled gently and retrieved his badge from the desk. "Have a good night, sir."

"You too."

And Henry turned off the lights.

Walking out, one lone lamp in the building burned brightly, with a slightly overweight, irritated, sad, sloppy old man burning in it's light.

--

Opening the door, he took a glance at the young woman in his back seat. She was still immobile, unmoving, a zombie of prolific proportions.

After that sheet was overturned the girl, Susan, had not moved again. Thinking back, he supposed the boy under the sheet was probably one of her missing brothers, but he couldn't say for sure because she had yet to speak since then.

The roads were dark as energy was still scarce and the city had no wish to spend their money on a time when most were inside according to citywide curfew. The streets appeared dead, no windows rustled, no lone walkers, no people. Only darkened doorsteps marking silent streets.

After Susan's apparent mental collapse he stuck her in his patrol car. It is always cold and rainy in England so, he only cracked the windows. Henry returned to his job, picking up his shovel which was still lying on the ground next to a small butt-sized imprint in white dust. Bodies continued to turn up, many of them children and Henry slowly grew cold and hot. The air was stifling and they wore masks to keep the stench from reaching them. Hot alive bodies smelled bad enough, dead ones were nauseating. Hour after hour he monotonously dug through the steel wreckage, thoughts of the woman in his car escaped him as he concentrated on the task at hand.

A foot, a hand, an arm.

A leg, a finger, a chest.

A head, a toe, a body.

Henry hummed to himself.

**_London Bridge is falling down,_**

**_falling down, falling down,_**

**_London Bridge is falling down,_**

**_My fair lady_**

**_--_**

When evening fell the workers dispersed, carrying the dead to various morgues among the cities. The halls were left dark, what bodies still lay buried would stay buried for the night, the blood stains and wreckage and dirt and sweat and tears faded as the lights above flickered out one after another.

Henry returned to the car and was surprised to find a young woman in his back seat. From there he had proceeded back to the station only to find it dark except for the Chief's office. The story follows above.

Henry was not suited for this. He considered himself mediocre if not slightly strange. A boring, droll country boy who came to the city to become a hero and wound up directing traffic and chasing wankers who cut purses.

He pulled up in front of a small apartment building. Opening the door he was expecting to have to force her to come, but Susan was surprisingly compliant and she looked at him with such pitiful eyes Henry could do nothing but carry her to his apartment. Once she lay in his bed, the life left her and her blue eyes closed in a dreamless sleep.

Henry struggle to pull an old Army cot out of his one closet, the springs creaked and the legs were rusted over from a dripping pipe in the closet. He pulled over to the sink and splashed water on his face. His soppy shirt stuck to his skin as he tugged it off and he then, sat down at the table for a moment. Not still for long his nervousness forced him to move; he picked up his breakfast dishes, a napkin with bread crumbs and pieces of egg still stuck to it, and dumped it into the small black trashcan that was situated in the corner. His room had no cupboards and the one closet was wet with mildew so, he chose to lay his clothes on a small table he had purchased at a secondhand store. With nothing else to do, he stumbled his way over to the old cot.

Lying down was heaven, even if the thin mattress felt like bricks. The room smelled of mothballs and the puke yellow colored paint that was disturbing during the daytime, hid itself behind a curtain of darkness. The walls were peeling and you could hear things crawling in the wall. Years of living here had made him accustomed to the nighttime noises and the stench of his one room apartment did nothing to hinder his sleep. Exhausted, he joined his charge in the same dark dreamland.

--

The next morning Susan woke up cold and wet. To a smiling face filled with eggs and bacon.

Her screams reverberated around the one bedroom apartment and Henry lavished her voice with his pearly whites.

"So, Sleeping Beauty awakes at last." He drawled.

"No thanks to your asinine attempt to wake me." She rolled out from under the covers and swung her legs over the side. Her shirt was soaked, though the rest remained fairly dry. "You do realize I have no other shirt to change into you - you - you deadbeat asshole!?" she questioned. Henry stood in front of her with an old shirt and pants on, both had several holes in them. He held a plate of eggs and bacon in one hand and a fork in the other, his face currently stuffed with both food products. After waking up that morning Henry had rummaged around a bit to find real eating ware. Luckily, there were some old plates hidden under his table, he had of course, out of politeness towards his guest, washed them (severely scrubbed and soaked in steam hot water - sterilization).

"Ah… well, the insult was unnecessary, but no that hadn't crossed my mind. None the less it is a simply solved problem - you can have one of my shirts." He placed his plate and fork in one hand and then swept the other in a wide arc towards the various clothing articles thrown on the floor. She grimaced and blanched at the thought of dressing herself in on the festering pieces of clothing on the floor.

"Uh…"

"Anyway, I made breakfast. You should have some, breakfast is the most important meal of the day." he recited towards her turned head, "There's eggs and bacon." Henry gestured towards his own full hands.

"That's okay, I…" His mournful eyes beseeched her, "… will only have a little."

He beamed and it was slightly charming. Henry turned around to slop food onto a second plate. "You know, you were fairly impossible to wake. The water was a last resort, besides you were making a racket. Sounded like nightmares, not that that doesn't make sense."

Susan hushed her breathing and gripped her chest. The same palpitating, clenching sensation took over her heart again.

Edmund, Lucy, Peter.

All dead.

Peter.

She hadn't even stuck around to find the other two. If Peter was gone, the other two stood no chance. Nothing was quite memorable after that, just the slow beating of her heart. She remembered sitting in the damp car and listening to it for hours, making sure it was still there, still pumping life into her. Her chest heaved in a sudden motion and she threw up on the wooden floor. Susan turned positively green and wouldn't lift her head.

"Well, I suppose breakfast is out of the question now." Henry walked over to the table and placed his empty plate on it. Grabbing some rags off the floor he mopped up the blown chunks and dumped the dripping rags into the trashcan. He poured water on the area, dripped some soap down and scrubbed the residue up. Susan still hadn't moved. He sat down on the bed and it creaked protesting to the extra weight. A callused hand rubbed small circles on her back and a dam broke. She grabbed onto his stinky, holey shirt and wouldn't let go. There were no tears, no nothing, just that desperate movement.

A few minutes later Susan whispered for him to take her home. He asked her where home was.

She couldn't answer.


	4. The Wardrobe Etc

The Wardrobe etc. etc.

It appeared that home was a fairly large house, fit for a family of six - former family of six. Down to one. In Finchley, houses such as these were becoming more uncommon as monetary restrictions forced people to cut up their own homes into apartment buildings and rent out.

"Nice house." Henry put the brake on.

"Thanks"

She walked the steps up to the door and quickly retrieved a small key hidden under an inconspicuous bench leg. Unlocking the door, Susan paused reliving how many times she had done this, except at three in the morning. Her memories ended and she opened the door. Silence greeted her and the entryway stood still. The air was stale as if it no longer was right to breathe it, almost as if it was poison. Susan ran upstairs, her feet knocking against the hollow stairs and Henry followed, closing the door behind him.

Coming to the top of the stairway she couldn't get herself to move. Their doors were open. She closed her eyes, shivered, and took a quick breath before running down the hallway - not looking as she slammed door one, door two, door three. Henry stared looking blandly at the completely ordinary house. Susan retreated to the third door - the entrance to her room. It looked exactly as she had left it that morning, but everything was truly different. She grabbed a bag from her closet and began stuffing clothes in. She rushed to the bathroom and grabbed a toothbrush, hairbrush and several other toiletries. Henry walked up behind her.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just grabbing some things."

He looked uneasy, "Look, I'm okay with you staying a few more nights if you need - though my neighbors might stare." Henry chuckled. If she had known who his neighbors were, she would know they wouldn't care. Old Mrs. Bridget was completely deaf, Dirty Harry was out at all hours and could care less and Mr. Connors would enjoy the gossip a girl in his room would bring. "But at some point, you are going to have to leave. Do you have anyone you can go stay with?"

She turned and looked confused, "I….I, yes!" she yelled it out, like it was a surprise to her, "There is someone." Her head turned helplessly to the right, left hand still gripping the overnight bag, "If you could give me a ride to the train station, I would be much appreciated. My car is still parked tat the Underground and I don't have any other way to get around." Susan shrugged her shoulders. She was ready to leave, get away, escape, forget. The house creeped her out - it was too quiet.

"No problem. I'll even do you one better." He grinned boyishly at her, "I will be your escort to this person, after all I do kind of feel responsible since, I did practically just kick you out. Sorry 'bout that."

She met his eyes and studied his familiar grin. It was nice she decided.

--

The ride to the train station turned out to be a fairly silent one. Not that that was any different. She had been the only non-arrestee to ride in his patrol car and of course he didn't talk when he was alone and she had been completely silent on the ride to his house last night. He swung a right on Ashe Street before pulling up in front of the train station. It had been nearly five years since Susan had returned to the place that had first carried her off to the beginning of their adventures. Mortified on a whole new level Susan was forced to realize she had no wallet, therefore no money on her to buy a ticket. Henry tried to calm her down, but her distress was obvious.

"I'll pay you back."

"I know."

"I just have to have my car back, everythings in there."

"Okay."

"It's a really simple thing, you'll have the money in a short while."

"That's fine."

And the conversation continued as such for quite a while until they were already on the train and seated. The compartment was small, but they made themselves comfortable. Henry fell asleep and Susan stared silently out the window, tracing patterns in the passing fields.

--

When the train arrived at the station and Henry exited, carrying Susan's small bag, he was greeted with a lovely view of… nothing. The countryside was desolate, no buildings to the right, no people to the left, green grass in every direction. Susan was a little worried, the Professor's house was well over three miles away and last time someone had picked them up. Tracking down a station attendant they were quickly directed toward Bob. Bob was one of the few residents of the few residents of this small area that owned a car and he used it wisely trucking people to their destinations.

After they were all loaded up into Bob's car, he boisterously asked them "Well, where the 'ell you kids headin' off to?" He quieted down after they told him.

Bob looked at her questioningly, "Uh... you might not want to go there."

Susan looked exasperated.

"Why not?" Henry cut in for her.

"Well, that is, the owner of that great, big, old house has been dead for a few months and its quite a mess." The driver looked begrudgingly at them, "Tha's all."

Susan stared and spoke, "That's not possible. That can't be, it... he... can't. No one told us...me!" She looked angry, the first emotion she had woken to was anger and since then, Susan had been perpetually irritable.. Henry slumped down in his seat knowing where this was going. 24 hours of knowing her and it came she was fairly predictable. "It doesn't matter," she breathed, as if that was all she could do to hold it together, "I still have to go to the house."

Bob shrugged and turned around, putting the clunker into gear, not wishing to cause another outburst and Susan leaned back, staring out the window, immune to the world, immune to death.

--

This was different.

Workers surrounded the old house and Susan walked closer until one stopped her.

"Sorry, M'am no further entrance is allowed. This building is scheduled for demolition. No one is allowed on the premises without proper authorization."

"Is the furniture still inside?" Susan questioned.

The worker griped onward, "That doesn't matter, I still can't let -"

"Is the furniture still inside?" She asked again, more persistently, still staring at the house, as if waiting for it to meet her eyes.

"Well, yeah, but.. I can't… Miss…I can't allow…" He was looking more and more pathetic and Susan continued to completely ignore him if he wasn't answering her questions.

Henry stepped in, "You might as well let her go, it'll only take a few minutes we're just here to retrieve an old jewelry box. Ms. Pevensie stayed her a few summers back and her belongings are still inside. She just wishes to recover that one box. Last memento from her mother and all."

The construction worker was near tears at this point. It is easy to say that most tears are not caused by fear or sadness, but frustration and this poor man was getting bombarded on all sides.

He waved them through.

Men wandered around the countryside camp, although, many paused to take a side-glance at the dark haired beauty strolling through the swamp of sweaty men. Susan walked with a quick purpose, while Henry took a slightly more meandering path, lingering behind and taking notice of their surroundings.

She knew exactly where she was heading and as she crossed the once green lawn - now brown with sun - Susan quickened her pace. Flinging open the doors, she rushed up the stairs. Third floor, right at the second hallway, another right at the first turn, through the room with an overpowering floral scheme, and into the next hallway, then a left - second door. The door opened with a small push and it was exactly the same. A white bed sheet covered the old wardrobe and dust settled in layers at every corner of the room.


	5. This is Not Home

This is Not Home

_This was probably the hardest chapter to write because of the timeline. At first I attempted to use the book timeline, but soon decided that was too hard. There are some definite similarities to the book, but you'll have to excuse everything else. As many Narnia fans have pointed out the movies are 'definitely not the same verse.'_

Her memories in Narnia had always been there. As if an afterthought or words on the tip of your tongue. They had never faded, never disappeared, only repressed. She had ran from Narnia. Her faith in Narnia, in Aslan had faded as her future in England became bleaker and bleaker.

The trip to America had done nothing for her, she fell behind further in her studies, distracted and oblivious.

Susan had been forced to watch as the proud High-King of Narnia went off to Oxford, as Lucy charmed her way into crowds of friends and Edmund piled books in a tower around him.

_What was she? _

Her grades were below average - her attention slipping towards other worlds, literally, she had no hobbies - the only thing she truly enjoyed was sitting alone and painting, and as it stood she was still the pillar of the four. They looked to Peter for guidance, but the children had always turned to Susan for reassurance, but as her faith had waned, so had her resolve.

The first drink hadn't seemed so bad. It burned on the way down, but in a good way. Another soon followed it and Susan came to realize that she didn't have to force herself to forget - the alcohol would do it for her.

The parties began in America, after the first trip with her parents.

When she found that release, Susan sought it out again in merry old England after they had returned. It wasn't that hard as the war had made bars and clubs some of the most frequented places, they had popped up on every street corner. Eventually, memories of Narnia became a game and that's what she told her brothers and sister.

Her parents had moved to America, leaving Peter to higher education, Susan to her job and the younger two to the few years left in their schooling. Apparently they had liked it so much they chose to return and stay, it was after all much better off than crumbling Europe. They had reluctantly offered Susan a place at their side as they traveled, but grimaced at hiring a nanny for the two youngest. Susan, more for her freedom than any obligation to family, had chosen to rest her head in Finchley.

Peter's troubles were far from over after their final battle in Narnia. The fights were less frequent, but by no means non-existent. The fights were no longer over silly things such as pride, now they had degenerated into defending his vandalized desk in class, or his seat on the train. So, very worth nearly getting suspended for.

A few years back, about six, when Peter was sent off to the Professor's and she to America things had shifted.

More that Edmund and Lucy changed.

They grew up.

That is not to say Susan and Peter learned nothing. Peter stopped fighting thanks to the professor's guidance and, of course, Susan was introduced to the miracle that was alcohol. But it was different.

Edmund and Lucy no longer needed them, needed her. Susan had always felt that her family anchored her, kept her from drifting off into some unknown place. It wasn't them though, it was their need for her that she wanted. And once that was gone everything tumbled downhill. It seemed to her that independence was what Aslan had hoped they learned, what he had sent them off with, but Susan hadn't. She had never grown up. Or maybe she had grown up too much - too much cynicism.

Anyway, Edmund and Lucy's return from their last own last trip to Narnia was the turning point. The news they brought back was happy and light. They had landed on a ship with Eustace and it had been sailed by Caspian. That brought up bad - no, regrettable - memories. Narnia was at peace and Caspian's quest was a success, it seemed everyone was getting their wish. That had been when Peter had officially moved out, and Mom and Dad moved to America. When she thought back on it, Susan really didn't blame them. Their kids were freaks who distanced themselves from anyone - even their parents. It probably hurt more to stay with the four of them than leave.

Susan stayed, received a desk job at a newspaper office, and continued to take care of the smaller things in their life. Laundry, dishes, dusting, chauffeuring, etc. Her office job was fairly boring. Susan rarely talked, performed well on what she did - editing and clipping the cartoons in the paper, and was late only part of the time. Although, she was so unnoticeable by this point no one ever saw her enter.

And that's where her life had been. A continuing cycle of repetitiveness. It was true what they said, as cliché as it sounds, you don't know what you got until it's gone.

It didn't feel right. She missed home more than ever now.

Susan wasn't talking about England.


	6. The Flood Gates

The Flood Gates

Whipping of the sheet, Susan peered at the plain wardrobe. No one else could've have known that it had once transported four children into another world - it was now her secret alone.

"That's nice, but it won't fit in the car." Henry stated behind her.

"I'm not taking it back, I'm not going back." Susan replied. Her hand turned the knob and opened the doors. Still nothing. She stepped up into the large space and began walking back. Except she couldn't. There was only wood.

"What d'ya mean you're not going back? I don't condone suicide and I will be forced to stop you if you attempt."

Susan's hands traced the wood paneling, seeking a notch anything that could peel back this barrier and let her into - - - - that place. She bent down, looking in every corner, her plaid skirt brushed up against the floor. Dust scattered itself about, fleeing from here errant movements. The fur coats remained in the wardrobe, apparently they were not even worth removing before destroying the house. Here hands galloped against the wood, movements becoming frantic.

NO, it had to let her back in. How could he? How could he trap her here? Home was only a step away.

_I want to leave. Asl…Please, let me go. I don't care how changed Narnia is - she had said it - I want to go there. I believe, Aslan, I believe. Please let me go back._

Her back slid against the wall and she crouched down resting her head on her knees. Susan knocked against her head with tightly wound fists, and she felt the first tears leaked out. This was release. Sobs racked her body while she tried to stop the coming flood. And as one fights against sadness, one will always lose. Her head rocked back and forth, drumming out a beat on the old wood.

"Everything will be okay." Henry climbed in after her, sitting down and watching her cry. "Have a good cry and everything will feel better."

"No it won't!" Susan yelled, "I want to go home! I want to see Narnia, I want my brothers and sister back. I want my kingdom back, I want peace. Please, I am begging you!" Susan crouched to her knees bracing her body with her hands and then turned and bowed to the floor with fingers clasped together in prayer, "Aslan, please, I will die if I stay here. I cannot stand it. I want happiness, please let me go back, please let me return, please let me go back, let me go back, let me go back…" Her tears heaved up.

And the flood gates opened.

--

The water rushed out and flooded every part of Susan Pevensie and Henry Stigers. It tumbled down the cliff, taking them with it and attempting to drown them. Rocks rushed past them and one crowned Henry clean on the head, another took Susan by the ankle. Down and down they drowned until it came to a peaceful stop. The water churned and bubbled peacefully next to them. Gasping, they struggled to the banks and crawled to the damp Earth. Henry recovered first.

"What the bloody hell was that?" He shouted out in frustration.

Silence met his outburst.

"Hey? You alive..." He looked over and saw her struggling to sit up, clutching her ankle.

She looked up at him and smiled, grinning. She was beautiful.

It was the first time he noticed how pretty she was, pale, and thin with dark curly hair that swept down the sides of her face and shoulders. Blushing, Henry studied their surroundings, while Susan gently stood up, steadying herself and brushing off twigs and debris. There were mountains in both directions, sheer cliffs stood at the opposite bank and foliage covered the sides. Moss crept up the smooth stones that littered the bank of the river. Above, trees of every height struggled for growing space in a flourishing forest. Animals could be heard moving about and birds filled the air with noise, the gurgling of the river behind them contributed to the melody. This was not a large Victorian house in the middle of nowhere.

"Where the bloody hell are we?" Henry shouted again. This time he got an answer.

"This is home."

Henry turned on Susan, "Looks like a forest to me."

"This is Narnia." Susan couldn't stop smiling and it took over her face. "I don't know why it brought you with me, but this is, this is… really hard to explain" and there she went smiling again.

"Okay, what's a Narnia." He asked.

"It's everything you see here and more. I… we…. My brothers and sister and I, " Susan stumbled a bit, "used to live here. It is ruled by a King, or at least it was last time we were here." She tried to keep it as normal sounding as possible.

"Okay. So, this land is Narnia - not England, Narnia. But how did we fall through a wardrobe! Into a waterfall nonetheless!?"

Susan missed the looks Henry shot her.

He looked confused. Here was this girl he had met at a slaughterhouse a few days ago, taken her home, taken care of her, and even escorted to a wacky old house where she had proceeded to cry and drag him into a waterfall that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Well, not seemingly - it had appeared out of nowhere.

Just like that boat on the bank.

Susan turned and did a double take. A boat, perfect. She turned to Henry and gestured toward the boat, "To tell you the truth, I don't know exactly where we are, but if we take this boat down the river I am sure I will se something recognizable."

Henry looked at her dubiously, but nevertheless trailed after her loyally. They climbed into the boat and Henry honorably took the paddles and drove them downstream.

Susan could hardly take it all in. She gazed tonelessly about, taking in the forests, the birds, the everything. It was like nothing had changed since her second, and final venture into Narnia, the land still sung to her. Gliding aimlessly through the river was familiar, so wonderful, so unusual - nothing like England.

The small canoe broke into open water and Susan told Henry to keep to the bank and sail around - she was still lost. Hours they sailed, Henry eventually let the current take them, occasionally using the paddle as a rudder to keep them on course, but doing nothing else. Susan laid back, resting her head on a thick head of curls and stared into the sky, watching birds pass by. Her eyelids shut quietly.

When Henry woke her up there was tingling sensation and her eyes were met, not with the green of vibrating life, but with the white of devastating cold. Her teeth began chattering and she turned to him, uncertain, but Henry had one more thing to reveal to her.

"Look." he pointed behind her.

She turned and the sky lit up. A port filled with boats greeted her eyeline and the island seemed drowned in fluorescent bulbs. Music reverberated off the wood of the boat, jostling her skull. The closer they got, the more she could see. Dancers filled the streets, wearing nothing that seemed appropriate for the weather. Stilt walkers towered over vendors selling exotic wares. The merchants shouted out into the streets and sailors and townspeople stumbled out of restaurants mumbling old songs.

The town was colorful and alive, despite the deadness of the winter that covered it.


End file.
